


Cyclone

by Chishionotenshi



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 4th of July, Bucky Has A Crush, Child Abuse, Cyclone Rollercoaster, Happy Birthday, Sarah is the best of moms, kid!Bucky Barnes, kid!Steve Rogers, steve has a crush, they have a thing for curls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-20 17:00:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6017617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chishionotenshi/pseuds/Chishionotenshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve has himself his first crush. Trouble is, she's his best friend's crush too, and he suspects she likes Bucky more than him. But it's his birthday and Bucky has promised to get him on the brand new rollercoaster, the Cyclone. Even if she comes along, he's bound to have a great birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rush

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! I wanted to finish this for Valentine's Day, but it's turned out a bit longer than I expected. So here's the first half (a tease, I know), and hopefully by Friday I'll have the second half finished! Happy V-Day!
> 
> Hiltrude, her family, Iddy Barnes and the names of Bucky's brothers are all my invention. The rest is 100% Marvel.

The first time Steve realized that the world was a little less what it seemed on the surface, he had just turned nine years old. It was, in fact, his birthday, and he was spending it on Coney Island. Up to the late afternoon, everything had been working out gravy.

Although his mother was working, she had deposited three whole dollars worth of nickels and dimes into his hands that very morning. When his eyes bulged, she had chuckled and instructed him to make sure to be careful with them. There would not be any more.

Bucky had been up and cheerful as the sun, with nickels of his own jingling in his pocket, which his mother admonished him for. His brothers had already high-tailed it to their usual spot as newsies, being of the cute variety that sold papers mostly to ladies. Of course, come tomorrow morning, Bucky would be back to catch everybody's attention, and Steve would be standing around with him to warn off competitors. Today, however, Steve was going to be king of the world- at least, the part of it that included that new coaster, the Cyclone.

Last month when the coaster had officially opened, Steve had been nearly out of his mind with excitement. But, in order to ride it, he had to be a certain height. Now Bucky was already there and well fleshed out to boot. But Steve was far too short by the standards of Coney Island. That sure seemed unfair to Steve, since he was very nearly nine at the time, and he saw boys younger than himself getting on. He also saw them losing their lunches, but he knew his stomach was cast iron and would not betray him.

Then, last week, Bucky had come in from doing the evening edition with a funny gleam in his eye that betoken unholy fun. He had asked Steve with great seriousness what he wanted most for his birthday. And when Steve mentioned the coaster, Bucky leaned back against the wall and drawled,

“Then Stevie, my boy, we'll just have to get you on that coaster.”

Like always, his mother had only smiled at Bucky's recklessness and told him not to get arrested. If Steve had suggested sneaking himself onto the Cyclone he could expect a whipping the likes of which he had only gotten once, for putting a rock through Jimmy Sellers' window. Jimmy had sure deserved it though, the toad.

Bucky and Steve had walked, despite the heat, in order to preserve their cache of nickels. Of course, two a-piece would have to be saved to take them home again in time for dinner, but that still left more than enough for a good time. What Steve wanted to know desperately, but Bucky would not tell him, was how Bucky intended to get him onto the coaster.

“Don't worry about it, Steve. I've got it all worked out, and that's all you need to know.”

The only thorn in Steve's side was their company. Not the usual crowd of guys out to have a good time, even though he was not as enchanted with them as he was with his best pal. They were all right for the most part. No, the problem wore skirts.

Hiltrude was still eight years old, and Steve had only invited her along because Bucky had thought his mother would saddle them with Becca, his baby sister. At least, that was what Bucky had said. While it sounded like the kind of thing his mother might threaten, Steve had suspicions of his own.

It was not that Steve disliked Hiltrude. She was sweet, and cute, and incredibly smart. Of course, she had to be. Hiltrude had been four when her family had come off the boat from Germany, and she was the only one at the time who spoke even a little English. Currently, she and Steve were locked in a serious battle for head of the class, even though she was five whole months and then some younger than he was. The thing was, all the battle was on his side. She hardly had to try, as far as he could tell.

But that was not the problem. The problem was: Steve liked her. A lot. An embarrassing amount, especially when all the other fellows were still chasing girls with sticks, mud, and the occasional rat. Steve was not the only boy who like Hiltrude, though. Bucky really liked her. And Hiltrude liked him back.

This was the kind of thing Steve could not bring up with his mother. How could he admit to being jealous of his best friend? Over a girl! But when Steve saw Bucky sneak her a sweet in class or take her books along with Steve's as they all headed back to their tenement, it sure made Steve's blood boil. He could not take these feelings out on Bucky, because he was his best friend. So he picked on Hiltrude instead.

He called her Trudy because he knew she hated that nickname. Along with his other male classmates, he would pull her curls if she sat in front of him, or collect bugs and leave them in her desk. He made fun of her clothes, which were two steps up from rags. And he refused to share anything with her if he could help it. All the same, Steve kept on liking her, and kept on feeling miserable.

There had been a terrible day this last year when Miss Porter had been sick, and the principal had punished Steve's misbehavior by forcing him to share a desk with Hiltrude. A certain amount of unholy glee had shone in the man's eyes as he twirled his white mustache and announced that the two best scholars should certainly have a shared seat, the better to improve themselves. His mother had put a stop to that; she did not believe in lads and lasses sitting together in class, unless it could not be helped.

Sarah Rogers, too, unfairly took Hiltrude's side. In fact, it seemed to Steve that every adult he knew treated Hiltrude special. It was funny, because her older brother was the one who needed the extra help. But grown-up folks were always falling over themselves to help Hiltrude out. Mr. Silbersack had given her a job sweeping up in his photography studio, and Mr. Baker's wife had done the same for their bakery. On weekends she was invited most everywhere by people with little jobs that needed doing, which Steve privately thought they could do for their own selves much better, and was hardly ever at home. Even Sarah Rogers, who prided herself on doing everything on her own, called Hiltrude in to help her with her weekly baking. The first time she caught Steve being rude to Hiltrude, she had taken him over her knee, too. As he rubbed his sore backside, she reminded him there was no call to be impolite to a guest.

Today, wrinkle as she might be, Hiltrude was not going to get under Steve's skin. It was his birthday and he was going to enjoy it. Especially the Cyclone. He would be darned if he knew how Bucky was going to get him on it.

But first, they sidled through everything else. Bucky bought him a hot dog with all the fixings, which was about the rarest treat Steve could think of. Ned Morton bought him cotton candy after. Then the boys pooled their nickels and tossed back cups of lemonade, since the heat was really beginning to kick up. Elmer Forest lost three times at the milk bottle stall, making them all declare it was rigged, loudly enough that the man in the booth gave Hiltrude a paper flower to shut them up. Laughing, they scrambled off as the neighboring wrangler warned them off trying that trick at his stall.

Bucky demanded they ride the carousel, which made them roll their eyes, but when Hiltude ventured that she had never been on it, that settled the question. After paying their pennies, they hightailed it to their favorites: Steve took the proud lion, Elmer got on the prancing black stallion, Patrick Hanoran grabbed a bench to himself to stretch out on, Ned and Boris Spiegelman took a pair of storks with a lot of snickering between them, and Bucky helped Hiltrude up onto the most elegant gray-brown horse with a gold mane. From his position, Steve could see her green eyes grow wide as saucers when the ride started up. Bucky liked to stand, and sometimes walk, because he was crazy as the day was long. Since the operator was always on the lookout for trouble, Bucky liked to stand behind the bigger animals, like the tiger and lion. With his trademark wicked grin, he trotted between Steve and Hiltrude, pinching the other lads and raising a lot of noise. Fortunately, Hiltrude was not dizzy when the ride stopped, because the operator was coming after them. Without thinking, Steve took Hiltrude's hand to pull her along. He dropped it like a hot coal once he realized it.

At last, once they were all safely out in the crowds and the full sun, Bucky turned to Steve and said, “I guess we'd better get you on that Cyclone so we can all watch you puke!”

“I'm not going to puke,” protested Steve. He would not. He just knew it.

As a group they headed over to the line. There were plenty of people ahead of them, and the group passed the time with the usual boasting and daring. Only Bucky passed any kind of conversation with Hiltrude. She was, after all, a girl. Nobody but Bucky would have known what to say to her.

The line moved slowly, and Steve suspected his scalp would get sunburned if they had to wait much longer. Eventually, they ended up at the head of the line, at the front of the very next group of riders. Steve watched, and listened to, the riders go screaming around the loops and up and down the hills. It looked like one heck of a ride. At twenty-five cents, the Cyclone was too pricey for most of them. It would be just Steve and Bucky riding, hopefully. Bucky did offer to pay for Hiltrude, making Steve's gut clench, but she had looked up, and up again at the coaster, and then quickly shook her head, making her dark curls bounce. Steve's stomach relaxed and he went back to wondering how in the name of all that was holy Bucky was going to get him past the operator.

With bribery, as it turned out. That tin box he had been carrying around was not full of his own lunch. It was full of Mrs. Barnes' incredible shortbread cookies. As a grin spread over the operator face, Steve realized Bucky must have planned this from the day the coaster opened. When Bucky addressed the man as Ernie, Steve became sure of it. He would have known Steve was too short to be allowed on normally and struck up a conversation. Anyone would break the rules for Mrs. Barnes' shortbread.

“Now I can't be taking all of you,” Ernie said, as a reminder.

“Just me and Stevie, here. And here's our fare, good sir,” Bucky added, grinning like the cat that got the cream.

“All right, birthday boy? Having a good one?”

“Yes!” Steve agreed.

Ernie turned back to the rest of the group, and spotted Hiltrude. “You're not having a go?”

Curls swishing with the force of her movement, Hiltrude shook her head again. “No, sir.”

“Well, that's mighty sensible of you,” Ernie allowed. “Pretty near everyone has been sick after.”

“I'm not going to be sick,” Steve muttered, determinedly. All this talk of it was making his stomach feel a little queer. It was probably the sticky warmth of the day.

“A sensible girl like you must be looking for work,” Ernie continued as he took fare from other passengers who had realized the knot of children were mostly there to watch. “Now, you're not old enough yet, I wager, but in a few years, you come by here and I'll send you on to my sister. She works in the cosmetics department at Macy's and they need young legs to fetch stock out of the back. Of course, a pretty girl like yourself will probably end up working the counter, so long as your maths are good.”

Once again, Steve got the idea that somehow all the adults out there were in on some sort of plot to keep Hiltrude working. It was not as if no one else in her family worked. Her mother took in sewing and laundry, her father was generally employed, and her brother did small, odd jobs for people around the neighborhood. It hardly made sense that Hiltrude was pulling in so many wages at her age.

And then, in the very front car, Steve and Bucky were fastened in. Bucky tossed him a wide grin, and Steve could not help but grin back. Finally!

After all the rattling, shaking, drops and jolts, Steve and Bucky wobbled out onto the platform. He made it down the steps in time to vomit in the quite handy trashcan. The other boys hooted, while Bucky waved them back. But Hiltrude was the one to wet her handkerchief and pass it to him so he could clean up. He felt sore all over, which was what he used to excuse himself from saying thank you. Ernie winked by the time Steve was able to look around again.

To settle his stomach, Bucky proposed they go grab some food further down the boardwalk. The brisk stroll brought up a slight breeze that managed to cool Steve's face. At this end, prices were better, although the quality sure could leave something to be desired. He got a warm pretzel, which truly was hot- if not fresh- and ate it in the traditional delicate balance between burning his fingers or burning his mouth. Patrick got another and dared Elmer to race him to finish it. They nearly choked, but Patrick won.

As a group they bought sodas that were slightly flat, and candy bars that turned out to be sweet bricks. Boris lost a tooth on his, but would not give it up. Since he had four older brothers and two younger sisters, Steve could not fault his logic that the bar was his, at least. Given that they would have to be home well before the fireworks, they debated between going back into the carnival, but the lure of the cold ocean won out.

Of course, it had not occurred to Steve that Hiltrude, as a girl, could not simply go running into the ocean with them. She sat with their pile of shoes and socks and set about the sand with a stick. Probably writing, Steve thought in annoyance. She was always scribbling something, and hardly ever in proper English. Then Bucky dunked him and all Steve had to think about was proper revenge.

In the end, Ned got an ornery crab stuck to his finger, and they had to bring him to the Red Cross tent. After a short struggle and a lecture on being more careful, the boys made their escape gladly into the muggy, brilliant sunlight. Ned loudly denied crying and ended up having to settle that fact with Elmer. The tussle was fairly brief, since Elmer never had the guts to back up his mouth.

Hiltrude had stayed behind, and she had written very nicely in the sand, “Happy Birthday Steven!” Torn between annoyance that she kept calling him Steven, and extreme embarrassment to be publicly honored by a girl, Steve knew he was turning redder than he could blame on sunburn. Bucky gave Elmer a look to keep his yap shut, and then nudged Steve.

“Betcha you oughta say something in reply, Stevie.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Steve mumbled. Hiltrude smiled. Not a smirk, but just her regular nice smile.

“You're welcome, Steven.”

“Steeeeveen,” cooed Patrick, and the other boys guffawed.

“Stow it,” Bucky ordered, but he was grinning too. “Now that we've dried out, what say we go back and do the exhibit?”

It was called “Modern Marvels,” and promised to be a regular snoozefest, but it was out of the sun, and cheap enough entertainment. There were cars, and machines, and architecture, and even a section on weaponry. For about an hour, they wandered through, knowing they were taking much more time than their tickets allowed. When a particularly stern-faced attendant started heading their way, they made for the exit.

Back out in the bright sunshine, the friends tried to look for their next piece of fun, but they were all divided. There were the water rides, of course, but some of the others wanted to see the last of the freakshows. Then Bucky suggested the Incubator Babies, which might have been unmanly, but Steve knew from his mother that those babies lives were saved by the price of admission. And there always were a few curiously tiny ones among them.

So they trooped in, paying out some of their pennies to see the modern miracle. To keep up their proper masculine facade, they mostly paid attention to the dials on the incubators, indicating temperature, or talked about how they must have been manufactured. Bucky, easily king of the knockout punch, did not seem to feel such a need. He pointed out the ones he thought were the cutest. Inexplicably, Hiltrude snubbed him by reminding him that “beauty is as beauty does.” Steve wondered if she had been an ugly baby.

At length, they made their way back outside, and this time they agreed to ride the Shoot-the-Chutes for the promised splashdown. Again, Hiltrude declined. She did not seem to like the rides. That was fine by Steve, as it made his nickels stretch farther. It was incredible how fast they went here.

Delightfully doused, the came out laughing. They played a round of darts at a certainly crooked booth, and Steve manged to win himself a kite by sheer luck. Shouting joyfully, the boys considered running it down the beach. But, judging by the sun, it was time to head on home. While the other fellows had saved up nickels for both trolleys they would have to catch, Steve had been thinking about walking home from West Park. That way Bucky would come with him and they could have a nice friendly chat about the Yankees, who were sweeping toward the World Series.

But once the other lads had climbed into the last trolley, it transpired that Hiltrude did not have a nickel for the fare. Bucky shrugged and invited her to join them, much to Steve's dismay. Surely Bucky had a nickel to give her!

Stuck walking with a girl, on his birthday of all days. However, Hiltrude showed a proper awareness of her place and only offered token comments of bland approval of the Yankees in general. She did not play even stickball, and only ever came out to keep an eye on her brother. The one and only time she had ever peached on anybody had been that time Jimmy Sellers had picked a fight with her brother by punching him in the eye. What Steve had learned then was that Hiltrude could scream to wake the dead, and that she was fiercely protective of her slow, strange-looking brother.

So he and Bucky talked Yankees, betting on Babe Ruth or Lou Gehrig to get the MVP award. Bucky was sure the Babe was ineligible this year, but Steve could not see why. Of course Lou was a phenomenal player, but nobody could beat Babe Ruth's home run streak. They would have to wait to see, of course, but Steve was sure Babe Ruth would get the award.

By the time they got into their courtyard, it was just about right for Steve not to be in trouble with his mother. Not enough time for a round of stickball, or kick the can, but then, his mother would be walking up the stairs herself pretty soon. Steve lived around the back, just like Hiltrude and Bucky, although he was only a few doors from Bucky, and Hiltrude lived all the way up the stairs.

“Want to come in 'til your Ma comes home?” Bucky suggested as they started up the back stairs.

“Naw, I should be home when Ma gets in.” Steve did not mention the usual birthday ritual of kisses and talking about his father. That was nobody's business.

“All right then. I guess you'd better give it to him now, then,” Bucky addressed this last to Hiltrude. She turned a little pink.

“Give me what?” Steve demanded, suddenly worried.

Hiltrude pulled out a small wooden case from her blouse front. “I got them at the factory. Edna helped me pick the ones you wanted.”

He slid open the top to expose four gorgeous Faber drawing pencils. Wow! Steve had been hoping to get enough money from his part of the newsie racket to buy one by the end of the year, and now he had four perfect pencils right before his very eyes and twenty cents in the jar over the stove. Trust her to do something like that. But for him? She had only given Bucky twenty cents worth of candy from the store: enough so a fellow got a good taste, and could share a bit if he liked.

It made perfect sense that Edna Bissel had helped her choose. Miss Bissel lived around the front with her parents and, when she was not working in the factory, she gave art lessons. At Sunday School, she would come in and help the children do crafts. She was extraordinarily talented, and she thought Steve might be too. If anyone around might know what supplies Steve would be longing that just might be in reach of a tenement girl, Miss Bissel sure would. It was a mystery to Steve why Hiltrude was allowed to call her Edna, but he had long since chalked that up to the mystery of Hiltrude in general.

Giving Steve a much less gentle shove than he had at the beach, Bucky reminded him, “I guess there's something you have to say, right Steve?”

“Oh. Yeah, thanks Trudy,” he said sullenly. Bucky ought to stop pushing him around.

“You're welcome Steven,” Hiltrude told him solemnly. “I have to get home now.”

And off she went, looking just a trifle stiff. Bucky none-too-gently punched Steve in the bicep, right on top of what promised to be a bruise from the Cyclone. Surprised, Steve looked into his irritated face.

“What?”

Bucky threw up his hands. “You're hopeless.”

“What?” Steve repeated as they headed down the narrow hall.

“Oh, I don't know, Steve. Obviously _you_ don't,” he added viciously. “Maybe you should ask your mother. Seems like she's about the only person who can knock sense into you.”

“But what did I do?”

Shaking his head, Bucky said, “Think it over when you use the pencils. I'll see you later for cake, most likely.”

“I don't think Ma made one,” Steve had to admit. Not that she would forget, but surely three whole dollars covered the price of a cake.

“Sarah Rogers not baking you a cake? The world would end, Steve,” Bucky assured him with a tousle of his hair that Steve shook off. “You'll see.”

“Right,” grumbled Steve as Bucky sprinted the last few feet to his own door. Bucky would be hurrying in to grab a bite before joining his brothers to sell papers. Steve had already been reminded of the family rule that children never worked on their birthdays.

As he had shucked off his shoes by the door and looked into the meager kitchen and living areas, Steve had not dwelt any farther on why Bucky should have been annoyed him. Sometimes other people were locked boxes, like his mother when he asked about finances, or where his father's family was. He did wish, though, that somebody would explain to him exactly what made Hiltrude so weirdly privileged when it came to everyone else.

Then he dug around for paper and sat down to use his new pencils. There had been a lot to see today, a lot he wished he could have taken a moment to store in his mind's eye. Best to stick with a familiar subject, if he could. So he tucked himself into the corner by the window, forgot about being hot, hungry, and bruised, and simply let his eyes focus on the page.

Bucky's cocky smile, that shock of hair that simply refused to stay behind his ears, and his midday cowlick from taking off his morning hat took shape on the paper. Not perfectly by any stretch of the imagination, but better than the last one. Clothes were another matter. The chronically untucked shirt under suspenders, baggy pants handed down from a fatter cousin, and curiously perfect shoes all escaped Steve's skill level. Naturally, he could not help trying. And the comics in the papers were helping. All those lines were so clean, elegant, and understated. He supposed that was the Art Deco everyone was taking about in the Arts and Culture pages.

“Now, Steven, my boy, how is it that a mother doesn't have her lad a-standing at the door to give her a kiss? On his birthday, of all days?”

Steve leaped up to grant his mother's request. Like always, she smelled a touch of the hospital, but more of the cologne she put on twice daily. And her hugs were as fierce as ever. She smiled and ran her hand through his hair.

“Could I ever have imagined you would be nine already? Sure, and I would have thought I was dreaming to see you standing so tall this morning. What are you grimacing for? Mothers will always see their boys as babies, you know.”

“No, Ma, that's not it. My arm hurts there.”

Eyes twinkling, Sarah asked her son, “And did you enjoy that monster of a ride, my boy?”

“Oh, yes! We went around the loops, and down the hills and up again, and everything was so fast right until the very end! Bucky and me were all wobbly like Mr. Bershaw after he's 'been with the fairies.' And I think I have a bruise from when I hit the trashcan after.”

“Threw up, did you?” she asked solemnly enough, but he knew she was laughing inside.

“Only because it was so hot today!”

She nodded. “And here was me thinking the thermometer was standing a full five degrees lower than yesterday. Did you spend your nickels wisely, me lad?”

As she walked into the bedroom, changing from her hospital uniform back into home clothes, Steve narrated the events of the day from out in the living area. He omitted being followed by the staff and censored Bucky's carousel antics, and the fight between Ned and Elmer. No need to get her worked up. 

“Sounds like a busy day, my boy. I see that you're still here after taking Hiltrude along.” And at this sly dig at his earlier protestations of dying of embarrassment at being seen in public with a girl, his mother winked.

“The fellows will poke fun at me at school,” Steve assured her. “They only didn't because Bucky was right there to warn them off.”

“Considering the number of times you have been in fights with them, a body might think one of you would have given up by now. Speaking of now, what say we have cake before dinner and spoil our appetite?”

“There's cake?”

Sarah laughed and kissed the top of his head. “Steven, my boy, what kind of mother would I be to you if I didn't even try to make you a birthday cake? Now, you go and fetch Bucky and his siblings, and Hiltrude and Peter too. That way we won't have any leftovers but a slice to tempt the mice with. Be off with you, and hurry back before I get too hungry to share!”

With cake in the offing, Steve did not bother to protest the inclusion of Hiltrude and her brother. Sliding on his thin soles, as his mother had so often told him not to do, Steve caught the doorknob of the Barnes' family door and let himself in. Bucky and his older sister Iddy looked up from the table where they were sorting clothes. Becca, released from scrutiny, took this opportunity to grab a swatch of fabric and jam it in her mouth. While Daniel howled at the indignity of his baby sister eating his shirt, and Ed scolded her in all seriousness about respecting others' property, Bucky shot Steve a full grin.

“I told you there'd be cake.”

Iddy popped the fabric from Becca's gums and said calmly, “We'll be along in a moment. Danny boy, stop crying so and let Ed help you wash your face. Bucky, why don't you go with Steve?”

Followed by howls of protest, Bucky and Steve made their exit. Apparently Daniel wanted to come with the “big boys.” Not that long ago, it struck Steve, Bucky had been a big boy to Steve as well.

“Maybe we should let him come next time,” Steve suggested.

“My ma would faint,” Bucky disagreed with a laugh. “He's her baby next to Becca, you know. Are we picking up Peter and Hiltrude, then?”

“Ma said to,” Steve told him as they climbed the rickety stairs toward the top floor.

It was even darker up here, as the gaslight had not worked right for as long as Steve had known Hiltrude. There was an unpleasant scent lingering in the air, and it seemed like someone was always shouting, or crying. Around this floor, families normally shared space with renters of all kinds, and the police routinely came up the back stairs with drunkards, and went down again with thieves and other unsavory characters that parents spoke of only after the children were known to be asleep.

Dank, and the narrowest in the building, the top hallway looked incredibly long. Hiltrude, her brother Peter, and her parents lived at the very end, the farthest from the stairs, and the toilet. Because of some previous tenant, they did not have windows, either. They had boarded up holes that let in everything except sunlight. At least, so Steve's mother said to Bucky's mother often enough. It was the kind of place that made Steve instinctively want to be quiet.

Bucky was the one to knock on their door. Not that Steve lacked the guts, but Bucky always seemed to belong anywhere he wanted to belong. Besides, Steve did not have the knack of knocking so the door would not pop open on its own.

Hiltrude and Peter's mother answered, looking red in the face and, as usual, worried. As Steve recited his invitation, she nodded along. It took a lot of fortitude to resist nodding back at her. She looked sidelong into the room when he was finished.

“Ah, Father, they want our children to a party,” she said to her husband meekly. “To have cake.”

There was a grunt. Steve peered into the dark, just making out the shape of Hiltrude's thin father at the table. Peter was sitting across from him, doing nothing of note. Of Hiltrude, there was no trace.

Now Hiltrude's mother switched into German. Like her husband, and her son, her English was chancy at best. She knew mostly those things which pertained to her jobs, or paying the rent. Steve had only ever heard her father say, “I want job.” Probably Peter was the best off, since the boys of the neighborhood taught him about sports, chores, and entertainment. Plus, when she could, Hiltrude took him to the movies. But his speech was slow, and sometimes hard to understand. He sure was a happy fellow, though.

As for German, Steve knew just a couple of words, just like he knew a little Yiddish, Italian, and even some Swedish. He did know “work,” however, and that was what Hiltrude's father seemed to be on about. From her tone, his wife was trying to soothe him, but he seemed angry over something.

Then Hiltrude appeared from the bedroom, and suddenly everything felt extremely tense. Bucky straightened right up as her parents both turned to look at her. What happened next would never leave Steve's memory.

Standing up, her father marched over to her and with one hand slapped her so hard she fell to the floor. Shocked, Steve could only stare like a goggle-eyed idiot as he took another swipe at her with his fist. Then he picked up a thick leather book, possibly the family Bible, and hit her across the face with that. What stood out in all the horror was the absolute silence. Hiltrude did not make a single sound while her father stood over her, breathing hard and looking around for something else to use. No cry of pain, nor plea for him to stop crossed her lips. Neither did his wife try to stop him, or move a muscle in her direction.

Bucky grabbed Steve and swung him around. “Go get your mother!”

Stumbling from the push Bucky had given him, Steve found himself pounding down the stairs in mere moments. Knowing how it set off his asthma did not slow him one bit. He could only think of what his mother had told him when he was young.

_“You stand up for those that cannot or will not do it on their own. You stand up because that is the right thing to do. And no matter what else, you stand up because you will never forget it if you don't.”_


	2. Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it! Before Friday! Hope you all enjoy it! I may or may not use this to springboard into another, much more in-depth, fic.

Steve skidded around the corner and almost fell into his apartment. Iddy and the little boys were there, and everyone now turned to stare at him. As he started to gasp for enough air to tell his mother what had happened, she whipped around the kitchen chair and forced him to sit.

“It's Hiltrude, isn't it?” was all she asked. When he nodded, she went into the bedroom. Coming back out with her black bag, she nodded to Iddy.

“No one is to have any cake until I come back. Now laddies, why don't you give Becca a wee nip of the honey out of the jar? I expect you all can enjoy that.”

While Ed pulled down the jar and Daniel fetched a spoon, Iddy sat Becca on the floor. She fetched a blanket from Steve's bed and wrapped it around him. But when he tried to speak, she put a finger to her lips.

“The littles don't know about it,” she said softly. “And your ma thought you would figure it out on your lonesome.”

“But why?” Steve burst out.

Iddy sighed. “That's a hard one, right enough. Ma thinks it's the drink, but your ma thinks it's something else. Something in his head, like. You can ask her later on.”

She picked up Becca and helped her bothers feed the baby the tidbit of honey. Steve sat in the chair and watched. And brooded. How could Hiltrude's father do that? Over nothing? It could not be about work, because she was always working. More, now that he sat down to think it over, than either of her parents did. It was nonsensical.

Worse, why had Steve not been able to move himself? He fought bullies all the time, just like his mother had taught him to. Just because Hiltrude's father was bigger than he was should not have stopped him. He and Bucky had taken on a lot bigger fellows. Not that they had won, but he had never not fought before. Was he turning into a coward?

“'Teve,” little Daniel interrupted his brooding. “Did you go on the coaster, 'Teve?”

“Yes,” Steve told him shortly, but now Ed was interested.

“Was it very high?”

“Pretty high,” Steve had to admit.

“Did you die?” asked Daniel, rather dramatically.

“How could he be sitting here with you if he had died, Danny boy?” asked Iddy with a laugh.

This stumped Daniel for only a few moments. “God bringed him back, so's he could tell us about it. Like Jesus.”

“Don't let Ma hear you talk like that. She'll tan your hide for forgetting the Lord is special.” Ed turned to look at Steve expectantly. “What else did you do?”

Shrugging off the blanket, Steve sat forward and told the boys about the day. They squirmed with excitement over his description of the carousel, and the Cyclone. But when he mentioned the food, Becca squealed.

“Canny?” she begged.

Daniel put his hands over his ears. “Too loud, Becca!”

“No candy. Steve had candy earlier today, but not anymore.” Iddy explained.

“Canny?”

“Now who would be asking for candy when we have a delicious cake?” Sarah Rogers asked, stepping into the room.

“Me!” said Becca proudly. The kids giggled.

Mother shooed them toward the table. The blanket she took from the chair and handed off to Bucky, who came in behind her, leading Hiltrude by the hand. Behind them, Peter trailed along, looking vaguely hopeful. Hiltrude had a fearful bruise blooming on her right cheek, just below her eye.

However, Sarah Rogers ignored what had gone on upstairs and focused everyone back on the moment. “Now, you all know the new birthday song, right? Let's sing that to Steven.”

More giggles, and then the group burst into the tune. Steve had to stand there like a fool, blushing furiously. The way baby Becca missed the notes entirely was pretty funny though. To his surprise, Peter did know the song, and sung it quite well. Maybe Hiltrude had been teaching him.

Mother cut the cake into small slices, making enough for everyone. But, she did cut Steve's slice noticeably larger. He also suspected she gave Hiltrude a slightly larger piece, as well. He did not mind. Between them, Becca and Peter made the most mess. While Iddy wiped Becca's face clean, Steve's mother took on Peter.

Then, to Steve's utter amazement, Bucky took Peter home. What about Hiltrude? Not that he thought sending her back up there was best, but. . . where else could she stay?

In his bed, as it happened. “I don't want to hear a peep from you about it, my boy,” Sarah said firmly as she stripped off the sheet.

“But, Ma-”

“I said not a peep.”

“I'm not sharing a bed with a girl!”

“Whoever said you would be sharing with her? You'll be in my bed, of course.”

Steve kicked at the floor with his shoe. “It'll be too hot, Ma!”

Sighing, his mother asked, “And what would you have me do about that? 'Tis summer, my boy.”

Bucky stuck his head in the door and suggested with a grin, “Come sleep on the roof with us? There'll be fireworks.”

“Eavesdropper,” scolded Sarah. Bucky just kept grinning. He was aware she would not be punishing him for it.

“I'm just trying to help, ma'am.”

“Sure, and that's what you were up to. Trying to charm me into giving you what you like is what you were after.” She snapped a sheet out of its folds. “But that might not be too bad an idea, at least for a little while.”

Winking at Steve, Bucky pulled himself back into the main room. Probably he would be keeping Hiltrude occupied. Normally that would have rankled, but Steve had a lot of questions to be answered.

“Ma?”

“Yes, Stevie?” She motioned for him to make his bed back up as she opened her hope chest.

“Why did Hiltrude's father act like that? Does he always? And why-”

“Lord have mercy on us, my lad. Let your ma answer one question before you ask another.” She sighed. “It's a long story, my boy.”

“Is it the drink?” Steve asked. Lots of people said alcohol was driving men to the bad. That was why no one was able to drink any more. Except, of course, they did. Some adults said they drank more than ever before.

“Heavens no, although I doubt it helps his moods. Poor souls, that family.”

“You mean they don't have any money? But Hiltrude works all the time.”

Sarah chuckled. “Trust you to notice that and still be surprised by your birthday gift. But most of her earnings go to pay the rent, and to keep her father in drink. If he gets drunk enough, he falls over to sleep and the family can breathe more easily.”

“But why does he hit Hiltrude? Bucky's da says it isn't right to hit girls, or babies.”

“Bucky's _father_ ,” corrected his mother, “is a very good man. Better than many. As to why Mr. Bauer hits Hiltrude, there are many reasons my lad. Plenty of men still believe in the stick before the carrot, especially for children, and even more especially for young girls. They feel the Bible gives them the duty of it. 

“And, Mr. Bauer hits Hiltrude because he loves his wife,” she added cryptically as she pulled out two lighter blankets for inspection.

“What?” Steve looked up from tucking in a corner.

Shaking out a quilt, she explained, “Hiltrude is not his daughter. According to Mrs. Bauer, she isn't her daughter either. She found her when Hiltrude was just a baby, out in the woods. They lived close to the forest, and one winter day she heard a baby crying. If I understood Mrs. Bauer right, the police never found out whose child she was, and by the time her husband came home from the military hospital, she wanted to keep the baby.”

“Then he hates her because she isn't his baby?”

“No, he hates her because everyone else thinks Hiltrude is his wife's baby. That she was with someone else while he was suffering out on the front lines, and then in the hospital with a bullet in his hip. That's why Hiltrude went to live with Mrs. Bauer's relatives in Norway when she was not even two, because Mr. Bauer could not handle the way the village talked about them.”

“She lived in Norway?”

“For nearly three years, and she speaks the language very well. Why do you suppose Lars Olafson has her over every week after school to spend time with his mother? It isn't only because she's as cute as a button, my lad.”

He had had no idea. Hiltrude spoke perfect English- maybe a little too perfect- but Norwegian and German too? That must be a lot to handle, and perfectly useless to boot. What could she possibly need all those words for, especially outside of school? Helping a neighbor out was nice, but it did not pay the bills.

But when he stupidly said that last thought aloud, his mother cuffed his ear. “First of all, my little gold-digger, helping out her neighbors has kept Hiltrude's family housed, fed, and clothed. And secondly, there are plenty of jobs for a young lady who knows her way around languages. She has a gift, she does. And that is what Mr. Bauer was so angry about today: she is getting work.”

“Why would he be mad about that?” Steve wanted to know, giving his ear a rub. “That's a good thing, isn't it?”

“Not when it makes him worry about his son,” she told him. “Peter may never be able to work the way Hiltrude will. And Mr. Bauer won't be having any more children. When Hiltrude gets picked for good jobs, or special treatment, even you get riled up. Yes, I've noticed. Imagine how he feels, thinking that his son is always going to be second best to some other man's child, and her a girl too.

“To tell God's own truth, my lad, without that work she has, I do not doubt that Mrs. Bauer would have let her husband give Hiltrude over to an orphanage. Keeping her has only been troublesome, so she has said to me.” His mother gave a sharp snap of a pillowcase. “As if God was not rewarding them with this chance in the land of opportunity.”

Looking at Sarah's lowered eyebrows and the way her mouth became a flat line, Steve knew she was quite angry. No one should waste what God gave them, no matter if they understood why they had been given it. How would they take care of Peter when he was older without Hiltrude? He could not go to school, and took lessons at home. People already sneered at him, or kept him out of their stores. Someone had to want to put up with him. And Hiltrude adored him.

“Ma-”

His mother clucked her tongue. “Now, Steven, you'll make us late to the fireworks with all your questions. You heft those pillows and come along.”

Out in the main room, Hiltrude was hovering. Maybe she felt a little useless. Come to think of it, Steve could only picture her on the move, including when she was writing. It made sense now, but he felt like a heel for never really thinking about her, although he had thought he liked her a great deal. He had even believed that she was so clumsy to sport bruises fairly often. Obviously he needed to learn to pay better attention. Maybe that was what Miss Bissel had meant when she said a body could never truly draw another person until they had watched them for hours on end.

Up on the roof, as promised, Bucky and his siblings were staking a claim. They were early enough that the fireworks- and full dark- were nearly an hour away, but not so early that no one else had had the same plan. Sarah Rogers shook out the quilt over a good-sized space without contest, however. People always treated his mother with respect, and Steve could hardly help being proud of the fact. She sat down with Hiltrude and Bucky's mother and sisters, and then Bucky snagged Steve to hang out with the lads.

They amused themselves with clapping games, and baseball cards, and naming the buildings rising in the distance. After a while, they tried making a story in a round and got to roll on their blankets laughing at the rigmarole they produced, which hardly made sense as a whole. The littlest boys came up with the most imaginative, if disconnected, sections of the story. Someone brought up a radio, a true luxury item, and they settled in to hear patriotic speeches about the greatness of their nation. Steve felt quite smug over living in the United States. Surely it was the best country in the whole world, and would stay that way, if only they worked hard to make it so.

Finally, full dark came on, and the first white, sparkling halo rose above Coney Island. Daniel leaned in against his eldest brother, thumb in mouth. A full hour of keeping up with the big boys had worn him right out. The radio played the National Anthem as the fireworks went on, and the boys swept off their caps quickly to join in the singing. Just like at school, he could barely tell if Hiltrude had joined in, but there was no mistaking Iddy and Bucky's enthusiasm.

Steve had heard their mother telling his own mother that she thought to save up to send them to Auburndale, a local art school. Money was too tight for Steve to ask his mother to consider the same, but he kept right on wishing every chance that came up. No penny, rainbow, or clover went unasked, unless he had a more pressing wish. Hard work would surely get him what he wanted, but it could not hurt to curry favor with the world in general.

Slowly, the little ones dropped off to sleep. Mrs. Barnes gathered up Becca and Daniel, leaving Ed in the care of Iddy. Other families did the same, leaving mostly children Hiltrude's age and older. Since almost every family had to share a bed, it made sense to relieve the crowding like this in summer. Come the first warm night, half the kids would be on the rooftop. Steve was an exception to this rule, his asthma and frequent illnesses preventing him from spending the whole summer under the open sky.

Sarah came to sit by Steve, pulling him in close. Nine years old or not, he was going to stay her baby forever. He supposed he would learn to live with that, since his mother was made of iron through and through. Hiltrude inched her way over when Bucky beckoned. Somehow, she ended up between Steve and Bucky. He knew better than to complain about it.

With only the fireworks to light her face, Hiltrude was as mysterious to him as ever. Maybe more, now that he had started to grasp that he honestly knew nothing about her life. He had expected her to be like Iddy: bright, pretty, and quiet. Now he understood that her stiff manner might be a defense, and her love of her brother could be because he was the only one who never judged her and found her wanting. She was a force to be reckoned with, too, shouldering the burden of family's troubles even though they hardly wanted her.

Until he got to truly know her, Steve could never be sure he was right. Maybe it was time to start over. And start right. So he reached out and took her hand. She looked at him in surprise.

“Happy Fourth of July, Hiltrude.”

The next burst of light revealed her sweet smile, the one he only saw when she was looking at her brother, or Bucky. It sure was worth the effort. Who cared if she dressed like a ragamuffin and spoke a little too formally? One of these days, she was going to take over the world, just like his mother. And it would be the better for it.

On her other side, Bucky shot him a grin and fired off a quick salute. Too, he got a squeeze of approval from his mother. She had been on him for years to call her by her full name. But he was most interested in how Hiltrude felt about it. Would she understand?

“Happy Birthday, Steve,” she said shyly. He grinned. She had got the message. But then, he had always known she was smarter than he was. He would use those nice pencils the right way. Starting tomorrow, he would get to work on a good portrait of her.

Fortunately, her birthday was not until December.


End file.
